


The Saint in a Sinner

by Archaya



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asgore/Toriel is kinda one-sided too, Bara Sans (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tentacles (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Medium Burn, Mute Frisk (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Has Description, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is kinda a badass, Reader is named, References to Undertale Genocide Route, Sans (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Sans/Toriel is one-sided, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Violence, Will update tags as I figure them out, You're not gonna like Toriel in this one, at least for a while, full of headcanons, headcanons-Heat cycles, mob bullshit, reader is female, this is a rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaya/pseuds/Archaya
Summary: You're just a standard New Yorker: you work hard, you make shit money, you take care of your sickly younger brother. And you happen to work for the De Luca Family- the most powerful mob family in your borough. As if that wasn't enough- enter the political minefield of entering a relationship with a Monster. Nothing goes as planned, your (eventual) datemate is more than he seems, and it turns out, so are you.





	1. The Hitman

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This was my first fic on AO3 but it was in desperate need of a rewrite. I jumped headfirst with no planning and found my plot meandering and going stale at quite a few points. So I fixed it, I think, and changed the perspective because writing in third person is hard as hell.  
> Warning: This thing is gonna be full of head-canons and fuckery and hopefully feelings. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans P.O.V

The alley seemed eerily quiet for this time of night, he noticed as he lit his fourth-- or was it his fifth?-- cigarette of the night. He brought it up to his mouth, magic molding his skull into an approximation of lips around the slim stick of tobacco. He should probably quit, Papyrus had been not so subtly suggesting it. Gum was left out in staggering quantities, books on addiction were placed like decorations all over the living room, and he’d been quoting advice from _Toriel_. That stung. He took a deeper inhale of his cigarette and let the smoke billow around him, seeping from his sockets and nasal passage instead of forcing it out through his mouth.  


Sans didn’t have lungs to inhale the smoke the way that humans did but he enjoyed the taste and the strange sensation that the nicotine sent to his bones and he was not addicted thank you very much. Besides, smokers got double the breaks of normal workers and he was all for breaks. He was halfway through this one when clanging and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh rang from a building down the street. Groans filled the air. One dull thud and a sickening crack later, those groans became sobs. He flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette and watched with mild interest.  


In the not insignificant number of years he’d been on the surface, thanks multiple resets, he’d learned one thing: humans are a violent species. Every city he’d chosen to move to following the destruction of the barrier had shown him the same things. Poor neighborhoods were filled with desperation, drugs, and gangs. New York was no different, although it was apparently different enough for Frisk to have yet to reset. Two years thus far; the longest the kid had gone without using their power.  


The fight spilled out from the hidden space at the end of the block. It looked like a male, stumbling from whatever blow he’d been dealt. He was hunched and emitting a rumbling, wet cough. It was probably his bones Sans had heard being broken earlier. The skeleton Monster flicked his eyelights upwards, taking in the very few stars this city’s night sky fostered.  


Then Sans felt his magic flare through his body, warming his bones more than the muggy spring air. His Soul stuttered and sped up; the beat of it was normally so calm but now felt as if it was racing. It pulled his attention from the less than _stellar_ night sky. When a woman strolled out from that space, her stride confident and her long, dark hair swinging, everything stopped. Not literally, but to Sans it felt like the world stopped. His breathing, a force of habit to help him blend into human society, stopped. His Soul stopped beating for just a second. Then everything resumed as if that moment had never come along.  


He took a swing at her. Sans felt tension in his bones, which was confusing. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen a human male hit a female. She blocked with her arm and slammed her fist into his sternum. He couldn’t tell how powerful she was but the man reacted strongly, coughing and crumpling to the asphalt. She grabbed the back of his shirt and drug him to the middle of the alleyway. If she had any problems moving the man’s deadweight she didn’t vocalize loud enough for Sans to hear. And yet he felt an itch in his bones to go over there and put himself between the male and her.  


When she flung the unknown man’s body before her he didn’t travel far and curled in tighter on himself. Her face was aimed at the hidden space she’d emerged from. Sans was pretty sure it was a loading dock for a furniture store. He was also pretty sure that it was also a front for the local mob; he’d seen scantily clad women and men with large duffel bags and backpacks leave that dock every morning and evening.  


As if to confirm his suspicions a command was barked. He couldn’t hear the words clearly, not from this distance, but the authority in the voice was unmistakable. The woman slid her foot back, stabilizing her stance, before pulling a gun from the back of her pants. He didn’t have to have good night vision to recognize the placement of her hands as being wrapped around a pistol of some sort. Humans carried those things in abundance, even more so since Monsters emerged. Sans flicked more ash. He was almost finished with his cigarette, then he’d have no choice but to go back inside or he’d run over his break.  


The handgun growled and red sprayed, chunky and thick, from the man’s head. Sans understood on an academic level that humans had brains but seeing one blasted against the pavement made him queasy in a way he hadn’t felt since his first teleportation. The woman seemed only mildly interested in the blood she’d spilled and the unsettlingly wet slap of the corpse against the ground. She bent over and retrieved something from the mess and held it out, as if in offering.  


A man dressed very similar to the woman emerged from the shadows to claim whatever she had held out. They stood together for a moment, obviously participating in a quiet conversation, before he dismissed her with a waving gesture. She stepped over the corpse to take shelter near one of the many light posts in this alley that weren’t functional. His superior night vision still failed to make out any details as she moved in the shadows. It wasn’t until she flicked open a lighter with a resounding click and lit a cigarette that he could make out anything.  


Curiosity had its claws in him deep. He’d never seen something this interesting in the previous timelines he’d lived through. His magic tingled along his bones, pulling towards the woman down the block. He rolled his lights in his sockets; he didn’t need the nudge of his magic to spur him into acting, he was curious enough on his own. Still, he did a few rough calculations, quick and dirty estimations, to make sure she wasn’t out of range. She shouldn’t be. He pushed his magic outward and felt it brush against her, tangling with the latent magic that existed in every being.  


Her stats danced before his eyes. Her attack and defense were fairly high, which was expected of someone who killed people. Her LV and EXP were staggering. He wouldn’t think twice about taking her on but he was the Judge, he had an impressive amount of magic at his phalanges. His lights skimmed over the data before finding the Soul burning at the center of the murderess. It was roiling red and yellow, like a fire burning in her chest. Human Souls were so much different than Monsters, often not having a set shape until they were pulled from their hosts. Something in him, a voice he barely acknowledged as his own consciousness, dredged up vague information on the color combination. Determination and Justice had a name, as his combination did, but he couldn’t quite remember it.  


The condition of her Soul bothered him. It should be cracked, or dim, or damaged in some obvious way. She killed! It was the fastest way to destroy the virtues of a Soul, no matter the intentions. His Soul had been protected by his position as the Judge. A human shouldn’t be protected from their sins. He had to know why; it was as important as breathing.  


“Sans!!”  


Alphys’ voice jerked him from his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that his cigarette had burned out and gone cold between his phalanges. He flicked the butt away and cast one more glance up the alley. She was moving away, the warm orange light from the lit cigarette the only thing he could clearly make out from this distance. His Soul quivered, whether in fear or excitement or any number of emotions, he wasn’t sure.  


For a moment he hesitated. There was a gentle tug on his Soul, like it was being drawn out. It wasn’t strong enough to actually do that, humans didn’t even know how to initiate Encounters, but it was insistent. It wanted him to follow her.


	2. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your P.O.V.

The cacophony of city life-- car alarms, bums, dumpster fires, loud arguments-- accompanied the sound of your boots thumping against the pavement. You lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke from the cheap tobacco in order to soothe your nerves. Your hands shake like leaves in a storm despite your otherwise calm demeanor. You’d get these little jitters after every kill, no matter how numb you felt otherwise. You thought you’d be used to it after so many years of working for the De Luca’s but apparently it was something you’d never really get over. You closed your eyes and _viscous, thick red sprayed from where a man’s head was, the pop from the muzzle rattling around in your head_. Yeah, you never get used to it.  


You stopped at the front of your apartment complex, looking up at the monolithic building. It was in a serious state of disrepair. Air conditioning units looked rusty and ready to fall out of the window ledges that were cracked and crumbling. The numbers that were etched into the side of the building were nearly worn away and the stoop was sloppily repaired with cement that definitely didn’t mesh with the original stone of the building. You flicked your almost finished cigarette into the street, watching dispassionately as the cherry separated from the butt, rolling around like some injured firefly. A car sped by, ignoring the one-way sign that directed the flow of traffic down this street, extinguishing the light. You took that as your sign and sighed before slipping into the unsecured building.  


You stomped up the grueling seven flights of stairs, not even feeling a strain in your legs. This was so rote for you, so routine, that you probably have had dreams of shit like this and couldn’t tell the difference between it and reality. Your boot steps echoed up the narrow stairwell. Tonight had been like any other night and yet there had been a moment when your heart had gone nuts. It had been faster, dancing to a beat you’ve never heard before, right before you’d killed that guy. He’d been nothing, just another asshat trying to peddle his drugs in the wrong borough, and yet there had been a split second when you’d been staring at his pathetic form when the colors had been brighter.  


It hadn’t stopped you from doing your job and putting a bullet in that guy, but it had made it more uncomfortable. The red had been so vibrant, you’d been able to taste the iron in the air when his blood sprayed outward, and that first cigarette of the night had tasted so much cheaper than normal. Then there’d been that tingle, the sensation of fingers running down your spine, that had your nerves frayed and your heart stopping. You wanted to dwell on it, you wanted to know why those few minutes of your life had been so unusual, but you just didn’t have the energy. Not tonight. Probably not any time in this life.  


Another sigh left you as you pushed open the door to the seventh floor and you stalked down the hallway to your door. You could already smell it: urine and booze. You didn’t want to go in but you knew it wouldn’t look good to linger outside. Either you’d wind up being caught by your father, who seemed to have a sixth sense about someone at the door, or you’d open up an avenue of conversation with a neighbor. Your neighbors on all sides were Monsters, and they were all super sweet, but you didn’t want anyone prying into your life.  


You grimaced as you pushed the door open. The smell was so much stronger inside the tiny apartment. Your mother, passed out on the couch and surrounded by liquor bottles, was the source of the smell. She was shivering despite the late spring heat. You snagged a blanket from the floor and tossed it over her before locking the door and flicking off the lamps as you moved to your bedroom. Light and noise seeped from under the door down the hall; your father was growling curses at some hapless kid who was probably better at the game than he was. But at least he’d locked himself in his room and hadn’t bothered you when you came home so late from ‘work’.  


The door opened and closed silently, the lock clicked softly, leaving you leaning against it with a soft smile curving your lips. Warmth, irrepressible and rare, curled around your chest. Your baby brother, so small and sweet, had forgone sleeping in the nicer bed that you’d bought him in favor of your dingy little mattress on the floor. The nightlight cast a gentle blue glow over the room, illuminating his drooling face and the book he’d had propped on his belly, open to the page you’d left off on the previous night.  


You slipped out of your blood-stained clothing, hiding them at the bottom of the hamper, and slid into a well worn night shirt. He hadn’t woken up with your movements, you were pretty skilled at keeping quiet, so you snuck over to the cracked window and pulled a cig out of your pack. The thrum of the city at night was quieter from this height; the kiddo had always said the sounds helped him sleep when you weren’t there.  


You played with your lighter, flicking the top open and closed with your thumb, using the motions to help calm your still shaking hands. After a handful of motions you lit your cigarette and leaned your head against the window sill, eyes closed. There wasn’t much of a breeze to steal the smoke from the room so you did your best to blow it out the window without really looking. You couldn’t handle the real world right now, with the images in your mind rising to the surface, shoving blood and viscera to the forefront. The smell of death was there at the edge of your nose, not quite real but it’s not a smell you could ever forget, following you like a clingy perfume.  


“You promised you’d stop.”  


The small sleepy voice caused your eyes to snap open and your hand shot to the back of your waistband. Michael, your little brother, narrowed his mossy green eyes at the white stick in your hand as if he could will it out of existence with his mind. Guilt had your ears turning pink.  


“I know, kid. M’tryin’,” another inhale and exhale,” jus’ a rough night.”  


Your voice cracked over the word ‘rough’. Mikey’s eyes made him seem so much older than his eight years, especially as they focused on your face. You were doing everything you could think of to school your expression but you could feel the tension around your mouth. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t scrub that smell or that sight from your mind. And it wasn’t just tonight’s unbelievably vivid experience but others. Some you’d seen from a distance, watching them crumple like a rag doll, other’s you’d seen to the life leaving their bodies from literal feet away. The way their eyes would glaze over, the smell of their organs suddenly releasing their contents, haunted you.  


Focusing on the small boy in front of you helped control your wandering mind. Lung illnesses from the time he was barely a year old kept his growth stunted. He looked so much younger than eight. And it meant that your smoking was dangerous for him. You took one last inhale, your fingers still unsteady but better than they had been at the start of the night, before you snubbed the stick out on your sill.  


“How bad?”  


His eyes were curious; you’d never told him what you did when you ‘worked’ late nights. He knew you’d done odd jobs. You’d been a waitress at several restaurants around town, you’d worked as a bartender, and a shot-girl. But your _actual_ job stayed a secret. You didn’t ever want him to know about _that_.  


“Bad.” You voice was soft but the hard underlying edge let him know he better not push. You hated keeping him in the dark, he always seemed so hurt that you kept secrets, but it was for the best. You wanted to keep him sweet and kind.  


“How ‘bout I read ya that book and we go ta bed? I got work in th’mornin’.”  


His eyes lit up at the suggestion, then clouded in confusion.  


“But you just got back from work.”  


You scooted him further onto the mattress before settling in beside him, crossing your legs at the ankles.  


“New job. Got fired from the bar ‘member?”  


He shook his head to indicate that he didn’t remember and that was fine. You couldn’t expect him to keep up with your ever revolving day jobs; no place seemed willing to work with your schedule for raising Mikey so you often wound up quitting or being fired. You started reading from the top of the marked page as he settled into your hip, doing his best to follow along over the gentle slope of your belly. His small form curled around yours, seeking protection and warmth, as you read.


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a rather prophetic nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** corpses, mentions of bullying  
> The POV switches probably won't be consistent like in my other fic *shameless plug for anyone that's into Red/UF!Sans* and I'll announce them in the summary beforehand.  
> If there are any triggers I've missed, or tags, or typos, let me know. It's hard to keep this all straight even with the notes I keep.

_Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as you ran. You don't know why you were running, just that staying still wasn’t an option. Your legs and arms pumped, something splattered on you from above, the air full of some metallic tang. Something intangible gripped your spine, pushing you to run harder, faster, desperation coating your tongue along with that unknown liquid. A door appeared at the end of the darkened hall. You slammed into it, ignoring the pain shooting down your shoulder.  
_

_The room was even darker than the hallway; you’d not been able to see more than a few feet in front of you in the hallway but beyond this door you couldn’t see your hands in front of your face. You wanted to run, the thing gripping your spine whispered for you to run, but you couldn’t see where it was safe to put your feet. The cold fingers that had wrapped around your spine spread to your ribs, spreading the chill. You were urged to take a step forward.  
_

_When your boot landed, it squelched, softened by something wet and soft. You swallowed convulsively, feeling those cold fingers spread up to the base of your skull. Then a light flicked on overhead. It was bright, so bright it burned, and you had to shut your eyes against the intrusion. After a moment, you opened one eye. It was barely a slit, to protect against the harsh light, but the sight it provided had you staring in fearful awe.  
_

_Every single person you’d ever killed was piled up like some sick trash heap. Body after body, with blood and viscera connecting them. Some piles were almost as tall as your hip. Some corpses were just teenagers, some were elderly. All were disfigured in some way. Bullet holes in their faces, necks shorn open, chests mangled and forms crumpled. All of their heads were facing you, eyes clouded over with death, unseeing, but trained on you somehow.  
_

_You turned wildly, looking for an exit. The door you’d come through had disappeared. Your breathing came in shorter gasps. That icy grip moved from your ribs to your very heart. It gripped tight and squeezed mercilessly, driving the breath from your lungs and you to your knees. A sob choked you. A voice, low and rumbling, came from everywhere and nowhere.  
_

_You couldn’t make out what they were saying, it was just a rumble of noise. Your eyes traveled upwards, looking for the source of the voice. The light was large and circular, not unlike the iris of an eye, surrounded by black with black in the center. It was blood red and cast an ominous, eerie light over the scene. At the same time, looking at the light made something warm settle in your chest, chasing away the icy fingers that had gripped you. The voice rumbled again, words actually coherent this time.  
_

_This is final._  


You jolted awake, sweat coating your skin, your muscles trembling, and your breathing uneven. You slowly sat up, trying not to disturb your brother, so that you could run your hand over your forehead. The dream was fading quickly, leaving nothing but the terror and warmth in your chest for you to know it was a nightmare. It’s not like that was unusual. You’d killed someone last night and nightmares always followed those events, at least for a few days. Your alarm jangled too joyfully. You grabbed your phone and slid your finger across the screen, silencing the annoyance.  


Your brother slept so peacefully, drool pooling on the pillow beside him, his arms wrapped around the book again. You kissed his forehead before slipping from bed to wash away the evidence of your dreams. Your shower was quick, you moved efficiently so that you could make sure that Mikey got to school on time and you could get to work a little early. First day meant you had to make a good impression on your new boss. Your wardrobe was meager. You’d only ever dressed for one job, so there was black leather everywhere. You snagged a pair of pants and the uniform shirt you’d bought when they’d hired you. It wasn’t a color you’d choose for yourself but you had to admit it matched your eyes nicely.  


You plopped down on the bed and gently shook the little sleeping figure.  


“C’mon baby boy, s’ time f’school.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You didn’t want to wake anyone else in the apartment and the walls were pretty thin in this shitty place.  


He grumbled and rolled away from you. You chuckled and kissed his cheek before going to put on your boots. He was a good boy, he’d get up and get dressed now that you’d messed with him. You brushed and braided your wet hair, watching him shuffle about the small bedroom. Shoes, shorts, shirt. The lovely private school you’d enrolled him in didn’t have a uniform, a pleasant change from the usual, and so you’d bought him several new outfits. He sent you a wide grin as he put on his shirt. It was his favorite color and it had his favorite idol on it. Mettaton, the robotic Monster, had debuted only a month after the Monsters emerged from Mt. Ebbot and he had quickly gained stardom with his flamboyant personality, decent music, and endless charisma.  


“Lookin’ good, squirt.”  


He giggled happily. You leaned your head against the door jamb for a moment, in awe that the scrawny kid had made it this far.  


“Aight, one moah s’prise. G’check unda yah bed.”  


He gave you a suspicious look. You were known to pull the occasional practical joke so his suspicion wasn’t misplaced. You just grinned and went to apply toothpaste to your toothbrushes. You listened for the rustling around with bated breath. You knew he’d found what you’d left him when a little gasp filled the silence. Then he rushed into the bathroom like a torpedo. He barrelled into your legs, his head just meeting your lower belly, his arms wrapped around your hips. You were short so this wasn’t really that much of an accomplishment. It only served to remind you how poorly you were doing; his head should be around your bust by this point. You stroked his black curls.  


“Like it?”  


“Love it! Thanks, sis!” He buried his head into your stomach, clearly overcome with joy. He’d spent a few years in public school before this and it had left him a little scarred. Not physically, no one dared put their hands on him after that one time, but emotionally and you couldn’t protect Mikey from words.  


Your mother had been trying to be a good mom, her first attempt in years, and had purchased what she could afford. It wasn’t entirely her fault. Your mom didn’t work, your father was a lazy piece of shit who sold drugs occasionally, so she didn’t have much money to work with. You kept your accounts separate, so your family only pulled money from your day job and you were cautious about your spending. You did what you could to keep suspicion from you; if your father knew how much money you were making that he didn’t have access to, well, you’d be in for a bad time.  


You presented Michael with his toothbrush and brushed together. It was a small thing but he always said it made him feel like he had a real family. As you brushed you looked down at his diminutive form, feeling something squeeze tight around your heart. You wished you could give him more. He deserved more. Your hand tangled in his hair and he smiled up at you, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and foam dripping down his chin. You wiped it up with your finger and booped him on the nose with it.  


“‘at’s ‘ot ‘unny.”  


“Yeah it is.” You chuckle around your toothbrush, having more room in your mouth to move the brush out of the way so that you could talk. Once you finished the little ritual of checking his teeth, you took his hand and slipped from the building.  


“Imelda?”  


“‘Sup Mikey?” You looked down at him curiously. His tone had been hesitant and soft. His green eyes, impossibly kind and gentle, met yours.  


“You’re the best sister ever.”  


That warm squeezing thing happened in your chest again. You gave him an awkward one armed hug while you walked, fighting the stinging in your eyes.  


“Thanks, kid. I try.”


	4. Breakfast Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans meets you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans P.O.V.  
> Sexual Tension ahead!

Sans grumbled as he trudged through the door of ‘Corner Diner’. It had been Alphys’ recommendation since it was only a short walk from the lab. It was still more of a walk than he’d been wanting to take; not visiting it before made teleporting a little more dangerous than it already was in his condition. He’d only been able to get in a few hours of restless sleep before his nightmare woke him and he wasn’t one of those lucky people who could go back to sleep. Not after what he’d been through.  


The bell above the door jingled as he walked in and a voice, rough from age and cigarettes, called out from the back of the building.  


“Be with ya in a minute. Sit where ya like.”  


Sans shuffled to a booth close to the door so that Alphys wouldn’t have to search too hard to find him. He was never hard to find in a crowd but the mixed patronage in the diner meant he didn’t stand out quite so much. He propped his skull up in his hands, elbows on the table, as if he had a hangover or a headache. It wasn’t too far from the truth. His skull felt ready to burst, his magic zipped erratically over his bones, still running haywire from the nightmare. He’d done everything he could to calm himself down short of having a stiff drink and that was only because he knew he’d follow it with another, and another, until Papyrus came down to drag him back to bed.  


He wasn’t an alcoholic, it wasn’t to the point of an addiction, but it was close. Once the wonderful numbing liquid started working he always thought more would help it spread to his aching Soul. It never did but he always tried, hoping that he’d find a liquor that would do the job. He just wanted to forget. Forget all of the resets, forget the various times he’d lived on the Surface, forget his deaths, forget who he was for a minute. Was it so much to ask? His hands dove into his pockets, pulled a pack free, and he slid a cigarette between his teeth. His hands were a little shaky as he patted down his pockets, his mind whirling with Frisk’s promise. They’d said this was the last time, no more resets. This was going to be permanent. It didn’t calm his searching hands. _Where the hell was his lighter?_  


“Hey,” a voice like honeyed whiskey pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up, his eye lights meeting a pair of emerald green eyes framed by absurdly long black lashes. A shock went through him.“Ya can’t smoke in hea.”  


His mind stuttered to a halt, making him pause before it actually registered her words.  


“oh, yeah? sorry.”  


He slid the cigarette back into his pack while his lights flitted over her form. She was short, or at least short compared to him. He wasn’t tall for a monster at just over six feet, but she’d only reach his shoulder. He found himself comparing her to other females, monster and otherwise, and liking what he saw. Long, wild black hair, sharp green eyes, tan skin that looked softer than silk, and lips that he was sure he’d have interesting dreams about later.  


“Welcome ta Corna’ Dina’.” She placed a menu in front of him and pulled a pad from her pocket. Her heavy accent made him smirk.  


“Anythin’ I can get ya ta drink?”  


“yeah. a coffee, please.”  


His voice was strained; she was so _tempting_. He wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, or the fact that he’d not been laid in almost a year, or maybe it was his desperate need to feel alive, but her every curve called to him. He wanted to lose himself in her.  


She scribbled his drink order down on a notepad and gave him a little grin. It wasn’t one of those ‘I’m paid to be nice to you’ grins. It had a little flirtatious tilt, a hidden secret, and it tempted him to ask for her number. Her eyes didn’t hesitate to meet his lights.  


“Be back with tha’ in jus’ a momen’.”  


She turned away to check on another table. His lights traced every curve the new angles offered. Eventually they settled on the bountiful offering of her ass and the almost hypnotic sway of her hips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this enthralled and attracted by a female, much less a human.  


He watched as she rounded the establishment, unable to keep his eye lights from her. She was just a waitress, nothing too special, and she shared many features with the humans in this borough. She should be completely ordinary. And yet there was something in her smile, her movements, her unbelievably green eyes, that pulled him in.  


When she’d finally made it back to his table, he was sure he’d be ready to handle hearing her voice again. She set down a mug, poured him coffee from a metal carafe with a big ‘M’ on the side, and then set that aside to pull out the order pad.  


“What can I get ya ta eat?”  


_You._  


“whaddaya recommend?” He felt his cervical vertebrae tighten nervously. He hadn’t even looked at the menu! His anxiety evaporated when she gave him that mysterious little smirk and licked her lips. His lights followed the path her tongue took, his magic tugging at the inside of his skull in an attempt to form his own tongue. It itched to follow the same path.  


“Honestly, s’my firs’ day hea. I have no clue wha’s good.” Her voice was playful and enigmatic, as if she was sharing a secret with him.  


“uh… then i’ll try the deluxe breakfast, extra bacon.” It was the first thing on the menu. He couldn’t get his brain to work long enough to thoroughly read over the menu. Hopefully there was something in this dish that would taste decent.  


She scribbled down his order dutifully. When she glanced back at him, her eyes meeting his lights again with such confidence. It felt like she’d hooked his Soul up to a battery. If she had been similarly affected, she hid it well.  


“I’ll put this in an’ be back ta check on ya inna few.”  


When she finally left his presence he breathed a small sigh. He was a Monster with a rigid control on his expressions yet he’d felt completely out of control from the moment he’d heard her voice. Curiosity raked its needy claws along his spine and he pushed his magic outward. He knew he could reach distances farther than the back of the diner.  


He couldn’t help the devious and triumphant grin that spread across his face; his little brush of magic had sent a shiver down her spine. He’d seen the way her shoulders shook slightly and her head jerked to the side, as if she could spot the offender out of the corner of her eye. He wondered what his magic felt like to her; magic felt different to everyone, depending on the Intent of the user and their Soul compatibility.  


Her stats popped up, her Soul blazed, and he stopped breathing for a moment. If he’d had presence of mind he would have found it amusing how much Monsters like him mimicked humans. He didn’t even have lungs but he pushed and pulled air in through his sinus cavity or mouth out of a need to fit in. But instead of being amused at his subconscious efforts, he was stunned by that red and yellow fire in her chest.  


Alphys sliding into the booth in front of him, breaking his staring contest with her Soul, reminded him to inhale. His eye lights were wide as they finally fixed themselves on the couple taking their seats in front of him. Undyne’s usual exuberance was gone in place of gentle worry over her Mate; Alphy’s scales were pale and the dark circles beneath her eyes were comparable to his own.  


“long night?” His grin colored the words.  


“What time did you finally go home? “ She countered.  


“‘round 7,” a glance at his watch told him it was eleven. “data was compilin’ when i left.”  


He finally took a sip of his coffee. It fizzed in the void of his mouth, giving him much needed energy. The waitress/hitwoman approached, a pleasant smile on her face, and placed menus before his friends. He noticed the smile wasn’t the same one she’d given him: it was a proper customer service smile.  


“Wha’ can I get yas ta drink?”  


“I’ll have a water.”  


“C-c-coffee, p-please.”  


“they’ll be on my ticket.” He sent her a lazy grin, looking more relaxed than he felt. His lights traveled slowly up her body, catching the name on her name tag before meeting her gaze. For a moment, the space between a breath, they held each other’s undivided attention. His Soul stuttered and sped up. Hers did, too, and it felt like he’d been struck by lightning. His bones tingled and his Soul felt like it could power the entire Underground.  


“Ya got it. I’ll be back inna momen’.” Was it just his most desperate wish or did she sound a little breathless?  


His gaze followed her, eye lights tracing the curves of her body as she walked away. A cough broke his concentration. They were both staring at him.  


“A-a-are you okay Sans?” Alphys was wringing her hands.  


Undyne said nothing, but fixed him with a hard stare, her fins twitching occasionally. He just shrugged; he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on but it felt like something beyond his control.  


“Sans, I don’t like the look of that one. Can’t you find another human punk to satisfy your kink?” Undyne’s voice was gruff and her singular yellow eye was fixed on him.  


His fingers drummed absently against the table, pattering out a rhythm he didn’t remember memorizing but somehow knew. He seemed thoughtful but Undyne had always struggled to read the older of the skeleton brothers. Papyrus was much more expressive and open.  


“undyne, i don’t have a human kink.” His words were clearly measured. “i dunno why i’m attracted to this human but i am.”  


He had been careful to leave out that he had an idea of why he was attracted to her. They couldn’t see her Soul without pulling her into an Encounter. He was the Judge, it made him exempt from many of the normal rules that governed Monster magic. Other monsters were just given an impression; the more dangerous the human, the more uncomfortable they would feel. He could practically see Undyne’s hackles rising and she was a considerable threat in her own right.  


“A’ya ready ta orda, r’d’ya need anotha minute?”  


Her soft question broke the tension Sans hadn’t noticed had gathered at the table. When had she even approached anyways? He glanced down, noting that she had boots, which meant he should have heard the thump of them against the linoleum but his mind had been too preoccupied. Cups clinked as she set their drinks down, polite smile plastered on her pretty face.  


“We’ll just have two orders of whatever he has, thank you.” Undyne said in her usual grumpy but polite way as she handed over their menus. She nodded and left, their order scribbled in as she walked away.  


“Sans,” Undyne sighed, “I know you’re lonely but… ya hafta feel that, right? She’s dangerous. Think of the threat she’d be to Pap, or Frisk, or even Toriel.”  


Mentioning Papyrus had been smart but Undyne had ruined her chances of convincing him of anything when she brought up Toriel. The sting of her rejection was still so _fresh_. If anything, bringing up Toriel was the quickest way to get him to do the exact opposite of what was wanted. His spine stiffened, his lazy sprawl in the booth suddenly taking on a very defiant air.  


“pap’s a big boy now. travels all over the country with the kid and does just fine.” He paused, weighing his next words so that he wouldn’t offend Undyne. Not that he normally cared but it was rare for Undyne to be cowed by anyone and he wanted her to know he was taking the situation seriously. “toriel is safer than anyone, she’s got asgore. ‘sides, i never said anything about chasing this one.”  


“B-b-but you haven’t s-s-said y-you w-wouldn’t, e-e-either.”  


His eye lights rolled in their sockets. There was no way they were getting that kind of promise out of him. He didn’t like promises. He tucked into his breakfast, pointedly ignoring the subject until they decided to move on, forcing an uncomfortable silence over the table.  


As if summoned by the awkward atmosphere, she arrived with steaming plates in hand. The subject wasn’t broached again, even as Sans made eyes at her every chance he had. He felt addicted to that little jolt that came with their eyes meeting. When she handed him the check, his phalanges had lingered over her skin and he’d almost moaned at how soft she was. The touch was electric and he’d known then that she was affected. She’d withdrawn her hand as if she’d been burned, a little gasp leaving her lips and those lovely green eyes darkened as her pupil expanded. Yeah, he had an affect on her, and it had him purring as he left the diner before Undyne and Alphys could irritate him further.


	5. School Yard Scuffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just keep running into the skele

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Holidays plus writer's block has been killing me. I won't abandon it though! It might take me a while between updates, but, I want to make sure I don't leave so much undeveloped, as I had in the first posting. Anyways, enjoy!  
>  **Trigger Warning:** Violence, Bullying, Language

Damn you were going to be late. You pushed yourself into a light jog, which wasn’t easy to do in the mid-afternoon rush of New York. Cars flooded the streets, buses were treated like second class citizens despite their precious loads, and the sidewalks were packed with bodies. All rushing to pick up their kids or get home themselves. The only time of day that rivaled it was 5pm.  


Your earbuds blared loud enough that you didn’t have to suffer through the melody of horns honking and people screaming at each other, as if that would help the situation they were in. But it wasn’t a cure-all and you were glad you could rely on your muscle memory to get you to Mikey’s school. Your brain had clocked out hours ago. After a very peculiar diner came in and tilted your world on its side. _God his eyes_ \-- were they eyes? You were going to consider them eyes even though they were just floating lights in otherwise empty sockets. You were pretty sure you’d spent half the day thinking about them and you weren’t even sure why.  


He had been a _skeleton_ Monster, literally just _bones_. You were forced to stop at a crosswalk and while you waited, you lit a cigarette. Mikey needed you to quit, and you wanted to quit for your brother, but you needed one right now. The memory of those lights and that satiny baritone had your knees weak in ways you didn’t think you’d ever experienced.  


You let loose another deep sigh, releasing the smoke as your body was flooded with all those feel-good chemicals. Not that mysterious skele-man hadn’t flooded you with good feelings. It was just easier to ignore that heat between your thighs with a cigarette in your mouth. You didn’t have time for normal things: sex, relationships, watching television, feelings, all that shit had to be put on the back burner. You had people to kill, money to make, and a sick little boy to raise.  


It made it all the more painful when you finally _did_ get urges; forbidden fruit is always the sweetest and all that. The blood on your hands, the secret in your closet, had to remain that way. So, you had to push on about your day like the very core of you hadn’t been throbbing with need for the past few torturous hours, like you weren’t heart-achingly lonely and unsatisfied. The crosswalk light flicked to the little green person and you bolted to the front. A cab, the driver on their phone, skidded to a halt in the middle of the crosswalk. You _could_ stop, adjust your path and jog around the nose of the car, but it wouldn’t be as satisfying as what you did do. You slid across the front of his car like you’d seen in action movies, the anger in his face worth it for those few seconds of almost childish glee. At least _that_ was a pleasure you could afford.  


Once you were within a block of the school, you were forced to slow from your light jog to more of a wiggle-- forcing yourself between people, dodging from side to side as you made minor progress forward. The school was controversial, the first ever Monster-human collaboration; until this point Monsters were forced to be home-schooled, unwelcome in all public schools. They were lucky government officials either had their arm twisted by constituents or by their guilty conscience. Still, protesters and Monster-phobes gathered regularly, and it made picking Mikey up the equivalent of pulling teeth.  


A firm tug at your sleeve that had you twisting and looking down. A young child with brown hair and a placid face tugged once more, insistent. They were pointing at a group of older boys, possibly teenagers, huddled in a tight circle. It prompted you to pull your headphones out. It was then that familiar cries for help filled your ears and rage filled your blood.  


“Stop it! Someone help!”  


Your blood boiled; the protesters just stood by, adults walked passed, and none of them answered those scared, feeble cries. You stormed over to the boys, shoving your way through the crowd, picked out the tallest one, reared your fist back, and CRACK! Blood spurted from the teen’s nose, he gave a weak little shout, and fell back into a group of protesters. You turned to face his cronies. They were frozen, fists half cocked back. You could faintly hear people calling for help, because of course now they cared.  


“Well, well, wadda we have hea’?” Your voice was steady despite the adrenaline racing through your veins.  


“Mineya biz’nes lady.”  


The speaker was a scrawny youth, couldn’t weigh more than 130 pounds, wet. Your hand encircled his neck, not putting much pressure on it but enough to be a threat.  


“This is my business.” You hoisted him up, leaving his feet to dangle scant millimeters from the ground. That small of a distance, the fact that he could almost touch the ground and you hadn’t even fully extended your arm, had him panicking. His feet kicked wildly as he tried to wiggle from your iron grip.  


“Yo, bitch, lemme go! C’mon it was jus’ some fun.”  


“Ya think it’s fun to pick on smalla kids?” You clench your teeth tight; the control you had over your anger was slipping. Picking on Mikey was not fun.  


“S’just a monsta an’ his stupid frien’.”  


“Doesn’ matta’. Still jus’ a kid.” You shook him and fixed your steely gaze on his little buddies. They were staring at you like you were a freak. It really wasn’t too far off from the truth. You extended your arm further, lifting the kid a few more inches from the ground, and _squeezed_. His feet kicked more fearfully and he whimpered.  


“Now, f’i see yous brats ‘round here, fuckin’ with li’l kids again, i’ma really whoop ya asses.”  


You dropped the kid. He rocked back on his heels, almost tipping onto his ass, before scampering off with his buddies. You turned to your little brother, who was helping an equally small yellow Monster to stand. You couldn’t see how hurt the Monster but you could see a black eye starting on Mikey’s face. You kneeled before them, steadying the Monster with gentle hands.  


“‘Ey kiddo, ya aight?” Your hands trembled slightly. Adrenaline was running rampant and it would take a stiff drink and a smoke to reign it in.  


“Yeah, thanks big human!”  


The monster bounced and for the first time you realized it had no arms.  


“Thanks for helping MK, Immi.”  


You smiled at your brother, who went to hug you. You stopped him and tapped a finger beneath his bruised eye.  


“Baby boy, ya got somethin’ righ’ thea’.”  


He nodded solemnly.  


“I know ya wanna be a big hero, but maybe nex’ time, go get a teacha’?”  


“But they were hurting him!”  


“I know, sweet boy, but they hur’chya too. Can’t help anyone if ya beat up.”  


Your voice was soft, not exactly scolding him, but you wanted him to be a little more cautious. You couldn’t replace him the way you could everything else in your life. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and smiled at him.  


“Le’s ga’home. Put some ice on tha’, watch a movie?”  


“Can we watch Wall-E?”  


“Waddeva ya want, kiddo.”  


As you stood to leave, a tall Monster approached you, and your stomach flipped.  


“hey bud, everythin’ alright?”  


You shivered and couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked over his form. How the Hell did he look so _good?_  


The kid he was talking to was the one that had come to fetch you. They made some motions with their hands and pointed to you. Those unbelievable swirling lights kept you pinned.  


“Yea’, coupl’a bullies. Got ridd’em.” You were surprised at how even and unflappable you sounded. Like you weren’t currently getting all tingly just looking at this Monster. He was tall, his chest and shoulders oh so broad, his features gently rounded and somehow appealing.  


“thanks bud.” He patted the brown haired child’s head affectionately. “good job findin’ help, kid.”  


_Was that his kid?_ The question tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. His laughter was deep and rumbling, as if coming from deep inside a squishy anatomy he definitely didn’t have. It made chills run down your spine.  


“nah. this troublemaker is frisk. a human.”  


“An’ ya are?”  


“sans. sans the skeleton.” He held out a hand for you to shake. You shake your head slightly; you weren’t a fan of touching strangers. You had to do enough touching just existing in New York. His lights seemed to dim and you felt guilty. Something in you said you should have taken his hand.  


“Don’ like touchin’ strangas. Maybe nex’ time.”  


“fair ‘nuff.” He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. Everything in his demeanor and dress screamed laid back. His white shirt was baggy, his black shorts hung low and fell past his knees, and he wore house shoes! Fluffy pink house shoes! You bit back a giggle when you realized he was wearing slippers in public.  


“you gonna introduce yourself?” He spoke teasingly, having caught your eyes roaming his skeletal form. You felt your ears heat up and your teeth caught your lip for a moment before you spoke.  


“Imelda. An’ this s’Mikey.”  


You looked down at your bashful little brother, who was busy trying to hide his face in your shirt. He was even worse than you at introducing himself. Sans knelt down so that he was closer to eye level with your small brother.  


“hey bud. thanks for lookin’ out for monster kid. you’re a real hero.”  


Mikey smiled and twisted, just barely meeting the Monster’s gaze from the corner of his eyes. When Sans held out his hand Mikey twisted his little fists in your shirt before placing his much smaller hand in the Monster’s gloved appendage. The sound of the whoopie cushion going off had surprised laughter tripping from both Mikey’s and your lips.  


“gotta love the classics.” The skeleton winked at the small boy before returning to his full height. You hadn’t even thought about it but surely cement on bone had to be uncomfortable.  


“So, if that ain’t ya kid…” You knew you were prying, but you were so curious.  


His low chuckle was like silk sliding over your skin.  


“i keep a socket on the kid for their mother from time to time.” He ruffled the child’s brown hair. They wrinkled their nose and gestured wildly with their hands. Obviously they were using ASL to communicate, all you could do was hope it was important enough for someone to translate.  


“sure kid, ask your mom, i’ll ask imelda.” _Oh shit_ , your name sounded lovely on his tongue. A spark shot down your spine and that horrible longing intensified.  


Frisk scampered off, back towards the school, while you stood with your younger brother. If it was anywhere but New York, you’d never have gotten away with fighting in the middle of the walkway. As it was, the only people who were mildly disturbed by the activity had been protesters. They were breaking the law by being as close to the school as they were anyways, so no fear of them calling the cops.  


“kid wants to stay the night tonight.”  


“Oh, um.” You rubbed the back of your neck, thinking about your schedule. You had to ‘work’ tonight.  


“it’s okay to say no.” There was something warm and understanding in those swirling yellow and cyan eyes.  


“Yeah, nah, s’cool for the kiddo to stay th’nigh’.” You’d figure something out. Mikey looked so hopeful. He deserved to feel like a normal kid. “S’long as their ma says it’s okay.”  


You fished out your notepad from work and scribbled down your cell number, hesitantly handing it over to the skeleton.  


“Jus’ have’r gimme a call ‘fore she drops the kid off.”  


You departed with a small smile on your face, Mikey’s hand in yours.


	6. The Things We Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans P.O.V  
> Sans is asked to do something he'd really rather not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning** : Spying, Emotional manipulation  
> These particular events kind of land in the grey area of could be considered bad/triggering, so I'd rather play it safe and warn everyone. The second one is kind of subtle? I think?

After leaving Frisk with Toriel, Sans had taken a shortcut home, finding Papyrus sifting through the papers on the coffee table. His brow bone was furrowed and he was chewing on the end of a pen.  


“don’t you look _pen_ -sive?” A grin curled Sans’ mouth at his own pun. It always felt natural with Papyrus, like he wasn’t just keeping up a facade. Papyrus shot him a withering glare before returning to his papers.  


Sans plopped down on the couch and swiped several papers from Papyrus. His brother hesitated, as if he was going to protest, but seemed to also welcome the help. He looked overwhelmed and harried and Sans could easily see why. The documents were full of legal jargon and bullshit.  


“gettin’ pretty ambitious, pap.”  


“I DON’T _ACTUALLY_ BELIEVE WE’LL BE GRANTED ALL OF THESE RIGHTS. IT HAS BEEN MY EXPERIENCE THAT THE HUMANS WILL HAGGLE, NO MATTER HOW REASONABLE THE REQUEST IS. SO, AIM HIGH, AND WE’RE SURE TO BE GRANTED AT LEAST SOME OF WHAT WE DESERVE.”  


Hearing the sharp note of cynicism in Papyrus’ voice was like a bullet hitting Sans’ Soul. Two years and humans had begun to rob Papyrus’ of his naivete. It was sure to happen at some point but that didn’t mean Sans had to like it.  


“bro, if anyone can do this, it’s you.”  


Papyrus’ happy little ‘NYEH HEH HEH’ perked Sans right back up. The taller skeleton scooped up the papers, dumping them in a mystically neat pile at the corner of the table and opted to turn on the television. They didn’t get to spend time together often with Papyrus traveling all over the country and there was still no better way to trap Sans in place than watching television.  


Human programming was varied. There were shows airing that Sans had yet to see, even with all the previous resets. Papyrus settled on a cooking show where Mettaton was the guest star. It would be interesting to see these two personalities collide, as most celebrities still had no clue how to handle Mettaton. And yet his thoughts strayed to vibrant green eyes and jet black hair. He _needed_ to know why he was so drawn to her. Physical traits weren’t his thing, he was much more focused on the Soul of the being he got involved with, but everything he’d seen of her physically had been an aphrodisiac. If he thought about her Soul, the heat and light it radiated, _oh stars_.  


A plate of spaghetti shook him from honestly quite sinful thoughts. Papyrus’ cooking has definitely improved these past two years, despite all his time away from the kitchen. Still, Sans couldn’t help but hate the dish; he couldn’t separate it from his time Underground, when their home was perpetually filled with the scent.  


“BROTHER? YOU LOOK...ODD.”  


Sans wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, but he could imagine, with his thoughts tied up where they were, that it was unusual.  


“yeah? didn’t notice.” He tried to grin around a mouthful of spaghetti.  


“DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TODAY?”  


He set aside his plate, face thoughtful as he measure his words.  


“i met someone, kind of. they make my soul feel...different.”  


His brother’s brow bones shot up and lights twinkled in his normally empty sockets. His hands twined together, sockets wide, the very image of a hopeful child.  


“OH THIS IS GOOD!”  


“yeah, maybe not so much, bro.”  


Sans paused, trying to think of the best way to say this. Papyrus didn’t seem phased whatsoever. He had _actually_ paid attention in other classes, unlike his science obsessed brother.  


“she’s a dangerous human. a killer.”  


His eager smile dropped, but only a little.  


“SANS, WHY--” Sans cut him off, assuming he knew the question. Papyrus allowed it, his skull twisted into an expression of fond amusement.  


"i don’t know, paps. but her soul is beautiful. **she** is beautiful.”  


The gravity of that statement wasn’t lost on Papyrus. He knew his brother wasn’t a shallow creature, not like humans. Sans would choose friends based on their Soul, who they are, rather than what they looked like.  


Sans felt the weight of the words in much the same way. In all of the cities he’d lived in previously, he picked his partner, Monster or human, based on their Soul. Although this felt less like a choice and more like an irresistible, irrevocable pull.  


“THERE IS A REASON FOR EVERYTHING, SANS.” Papyrus patted his brother’s femur, comforting the shorter skeleton. “I HAVE NO DOUBT YOU’LL FIND OUT SOMEDAY, BE PATIENT.”  


Sans grinned; the humor in Papyrus, of all skeletons, telling _him_ to be patient was not lost on Sans. But he was right. He was a patient Soul, if he just did as his Soul told him, let the suddenly hyperactive core of his being lead the way, he’d have to find something out.

“SANS? YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS, YOU LAZYBONES!”  


His brother’s shout had Sans flailing, magic bursting along his marrow in panicked response. He whipped his head about, bones tingling. Papyrus towered over him, a cell phone being offered. Apparently he had dozed off, dreams of lush lips and coppery skin tricking him into thinking he had just been daydreaming.  


“sup, bro?”  


“TORIEL’S BEEN CALLING YOU FOR THE PAST HOUR. YOU DOZED OFF.”  


His expression was amused; Papyrus knew better than most the hours Sans had been forced into keeping lately. The government’s pressure on Alphys’ lab to produce some kind of result before budgets were drawn up had affected them all. He just called Sans lazy and gave him shit because, to put it simply, they were brothers, and that’s what brothers do. Sans sleepy grin drooped as he took the phone and looked over the number of missed calls. His fingers dialed the number; he’d not saved it in his phone this timeline but he still had it memorized.  


“hello toriel.”  


“Sans,” aggravation colored her normally kind voice, “are you avoiding me?”  


“nah, just dozed off. been working myself to the _bone_.”  


A soft chuckle told him he was tentatively forgiven. She loved bad puns too much to stay angry at him for long.  


“I have a favor to ask, if it is not too much.”  


“it’s never too much, Tori.” Sans purposely avoided the disappointed look from Papyrus.  


“I just dropped Frisk off at their new friend’s apartment.” Sans turned it on speaker phone so that Papyrus might stop giving him looks. “I really do not feel comfortable leaving them there. It was so _poor_ , and unsafe, and--”  


“imelda right? yeah, i’ll just call her and--.”  


“I would rather she not know. I do not want her to feel insulted, I just worry about Frisk’s safety.”  


A heavy sigh left his mouth. He hated spying, it always made him feel disgusting. At this rate there was no amount of bathing that could remove the metaphorical stains on his bones.  


“whatever you want, tori.”  


“Oh! Thank you Sans!” He could practically hear her clapping her paws together.  


“yeah. no problem. i love spying on complete strangers.” The edge to his voice was lost on Toriel, but not on Papyrus. He’d noticed that his brother’s humor was dryer, his words more pointed, as if he was losing hope. It became worse around Toriel; Sans had never handled rejection well. It didn’t help that Sans couldn’t just avoid this problem, like he did so many others. Papyrus worked with her kid, Sans and Frisk were actually on decent terms. Ignoring Tori would be like ignoring Frisk and Sans couldn’t do that to the kid.  


Toriel gave Sans the coordinates of the complex and hung up. Despite his recent nap, Sans felt exhausted. He felt dirty too, like a used napkin. Papyrus patted his brother’s scapula, earning him a small smile.  


“alright paps, guess i’ll see you tomorrow morning.”  


Papyrus nodded, giving his brother a tight smile. Sans trudged up the stairs to his room to collect supplies for a night out. He stomped back down with a bag full of snacks and a pair of binoculars.  


“YOU’RE FORGETTING YOUR SLEEPING BAG.”  


“i’ll get sleep when i’m _dead_. s’not like it’s any _skin_ off my back.” His grin didn’t reach his eye lights. Papyrus shook his head and groaned all the same; his brother was trying.  


Sans pulled the location up on his phone and gathered his magic. Teleporting was as easy as breathing. Inhale, darkness, exhale. Then he was on the roof of the building. The neighborhood looked vaguely familiar but then again, you’ve been to one little ghetto in a big city, you’ve been to them all. He blipped to the building adjacent to the complex so that he could peak through the windows.  


He fished his binoculars from his bag, glad that the sun was setting. The impending darkness meant he was less likely to be seen by anyone other than drugees, dealers, and working women, while still having enough light to search for Frisks’ Soul. He peered through window after window, up and down the building, with no luck. An older couple having sex, a monster family settling down for dinner, a human male beating his wife. No Frisk. He found another building that would give him access to another side of the building.  


It took him two more tries before he found Frisk. Their vibrant red soul was fluttering happily while they played with a little boy. He had a dark green soul, which pulsed calmly. They seemed to really be enjoying themselves. Sans texted a report to Toriel, letting her know he’d found her precious child and that the kid was safe. After getting a smiling emoji from his heartbreaker, he returned his gaze to the window. Why did he even agree to this? _Because you’re whipped, that’s why. You don’t have a snowball’s chance with her, she's already turned you down, but you keep doing it because it’s all you know_.  


Movement from the window beside it pulled his attention from the gleeful children. He expected to see her but not like that. Her skin glistened, wet from a shower. Her wild hair hung in already curling strands, sticking to every exposed inch, and oh those exposed inches. His Soul pounded hard against his ribs, magic flooding his system. His pelvis tingled, ached, buzzed with magic that was instinctively trying to form. _Fuck, how did she manage to be so…_.  


He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t spy on her. If it had been a stranger he could have punched his conscience and done his damn job. But seeing her, so oblivious to his gaze, going about her very private business, was a level of dirty he couldn’t handle. He held his gaze for one more moment, watching the way she wrung out her long hair, the way her body moved with confidence, before lowering his binoculars.  


_How do I keep my promise?_ The solution to his dilemma would give Toriel a heart attack. His mouth curved in his trademark grin. Popping over to his house and dropping off his things was surprisingly easy; Papyrus was too absorbed in his proposal to notice any noise coming from his brother’s room. Then he blipped into the alley around the corner from the apartment complex. Keeping his stride casual while his brain decided to play his ‘greatest hits’ was a lot harder than he thought it would be.  


He’d done a lot of stupid things in his very long life-- the time he’d kissed Grillby when he was drunk, dying Undyne’s hair green while she slept, climbing a tree while he was drunk, teaching Annoying Dog how to fetch using his own bones-- but this was going to take the cake. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, his Soul was buzzing and he felt so alive walking up the stairs to the seventh floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Undertale is property of Toby Fox. I'm just having fun with all their lovely characters.


End file.
